


The Adventure Of The Paradol Chamber

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [32]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assassination, F/M, Justice, London, M/M, Medical, Murder, Slow Burn, Spice, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Westmorland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Justice may be delayed but it is seldom denied - as two killers find out the hard way when karma catches up with them thanks to some scented soap and the wonders of the modern telegraphic system.





	The Adventure Of The Paradol Chamber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calais_Reno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calais_Reno/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Autumn arrived early in that Golden Jubilee year and, as Watson had feared, the return of the cold weather led to his poor wife falling ill again. It did not at first seem serious and Mrs. Watson was not the sort to stand her husband playing the 'mother-hen' (as he was often wont to do). My brother Sherlock had a case handed to him at this time and, rather unusually for him, did not immediately seek Watson's help - I believe he was still treading warily after the publication of the story - but when he made one of his rare visits to Watson's house, Mrs. Watson pressured him to accept her husband's help to get him out of the house (and her way) for a time.

Note: At the time of this case the word 'paradol' was still in common usage. It is the principal ingredient in the Guinea pepper, and also present in ginger. Back in those far-off days one could buy small bottles of it as a general spice, although I have not seen any for some years now.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

This case was similar to our Cumberland adventure in that it involved a crime some years prior, except that this time the original crime had not been resolved. What had happened three years back had seemed clear enough – but appearances can be deceiving, and deceptions have an unhappy knack of unravelling when one least expects.

The original sequence of events had occurred in the autumn of 'Eighty-Four, and had been termed ' the Easington House Murder' by the newspapers. Lady Alicia Easington, the sole daughter of her illustrious father the Imperial Office minister Sir Beresford, had recently married a bank clerk called Mr. Hilary Bennett. They had moved into Hill House, one of Sir Beresford's many properties, whilst they chose a place of their own. Curiously that property too was up for sale as the elderly knight planned to retire to his estate in Westmorland.

The baronet's wealth had actually come to him from his late wife Lady Anne, and that was pertinent to the case. They had had six children but only two had survived, their daughter Lady Alicia and a son Oughtred, the latter eschewing his honorary title as he had chosen to become a doctor. He had in fact departed these shores for a five-year commission with the British Army in India only two weeks prior to the dramatic events that claimed his sister's life.

It had been Guy Fawkes' Night when two masked robbers had broken into the house only to be surprised by Lady Alicia. She had been struck on the head and had died not long after. Efforts to reach her brother had proved fruitless, and Sir Beresford had been forced to dispatch a telegram advising him not to return when he did get it as the funeral had had to be held without him. The widower Mr. Bennett moved out of the house as soon as possible, and despite a substantial reward having been offered by Sir Beresford, the robbers had not yet been caught.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“I had a visit from a member of the nobility this morning”, Holmes said casually as I unwrapped my scarf at the door and shivered. There was a thick fog outside and despite my many layers, I was freezing. “Sir Beresford Easington.”

I frowned for a moment as I tried to recall the name, but then I remembered. Father to the murdered Lady Alicia. 

“The poor old fellow”, I said. “At least his son is back in the country now; he is taking patients as a locum not far from my surgery.”

Holmes looked at me in surprise before seeming to realize something.

“Of course, it is Tuesday”, he said. “The surgery has had you rushing to the four corners of this great metropolis chasing after patients, one hopes those who actually know how to pay for your services for once. Pull yourself up by the fire and have a look at the _”Times”_.

I did as I was told and read the article that he had indicated on the front page. 

“Sir Beresford wants your help with this?” I asked curiously. “It does not really seem to be in your line of business.”

“A mysterious and unexplained death?” Holmes said. “It seems exactly in my line of business. But the article does leave out certain salient facts which sets things in a rather different light. I shall tell you of the whole, and you can tell me what you think.”

I nodded, sipped my drink and sat back. The weather might be frightful outside, but with a warm fire and my friend sat across from me, 221B was a most pleasant place to be right now.

“Sir Beresford has spent the last few years consolidating his affairs, which has involved him selling most of his properties”, Holmes began, “As well as his Westmorland estate which he has expanded somewhat, he has purchased a house in Bayswater for his recently returned son, one suitable to be adapted to host a doctor's practice if he so wished. For his former son-in-law he has obtained a place in St. John's Wood, _“Sedbergh House”_. As I suspect you may have read, Lady Alicia made a will directly after her marriage without telling anyone, even her husband. Sir Beresford told me that she had visited a psychic and had been 'counselled'; I have little time for such nonsense but in this case the person involved seems to have had some foresight. If the marriage lasted less than a year for any reason, then her funds reverted wholly to her father. There were other clauses that were not activated, but the upshot of it was that Mr. Bennett received nothing from the marriage.”

“Surely such a will was open to challenge?” I asked. 

“Mr. Bennett probably could have most likely done that, but he declined so to do”, Holmes said. “He seems to have been well rewarded for his restraint. To continue, Doctor Oughtred Easington was due to serve for five years in British India, but this year he decided to come home after only three. I do not know why; perhaps he found it too much for him out there. He arrived home exactly two weeks ago, and the dramatic events of last night are what his father came to Baker Street to discuss earlier today.”

“Last night, Doctor Easington was invited round to his Mr. Bennett's house for dinner. _”Sedbergh House”_ was formerly _“Eastern Promise”_ – I know! - and had belonged to a Portuguese merchant who had made a fortune in the spice trade before returning to his native land. It was known locally as the House of Spices, which I think is only marginally less atrocious, and each part of the house bears the name of a herb or spice.”

“Ah!” I said. “That is why the dramatically headlined article referred to a 'Paradol Chamber', then?”

“Indeed”, Holmes said. “Dinner proceeded as normal with just the two men and the servants present. The men adjourned to the smoking-room upstairs – the Cinnamon Chamber - for drinks, and the doctor excused himself to visit the water closet, or as it was in this case, the Ginger Chamber. How that merchant made a fortune whilst showing such execrable taste is something that I find frankly incomprehensible!”

I smiled at his annoyance.

“The doctor returned to the room to find his host lying on the floor, having clearly been strangled. Mr. Bennett lay directly in front of a small store-cupboard labelled 'the Paradol Chamber', the door to which was slightly ajar. The French doors were open upon the doctor's return whereas they had not been earlier. The door into the smoking-room was also slightly ajar when he re-entered the room; he was sure that he had shut it when he had left in order to keep the warmth in.”

“I am surprised that they did not immediately suspect the doctor”, I observed. Holmes shook his head.

“He entered the room just as a maid was passing down the corridor; she heard him call out and came in after him. She says that he left the door open when he went in, and there was a delay of but a few seconds before she got there.”

“Did they search this 'Paradol Chamber'?” I asked.

“They did”, Holmes said. “The maid said that it was usually locked and that the master and housekeeper both had keys, although the housekeeper was then dining with some of the rest of the staff downstairs. A search revealed only one unusual item in it, namely a skull. Not a real one I hasten to add, but the sort purchased from theatrical shops.”

“Strangled”, I said thoughtfully. “Probably by someone who escaped via the French doors, then.”

“It looks that way”, Holmes suggested. “The maid – a different one - who took the food in and out at dinner said that both men seemed perfectly relaxed, and the butler reported that they were talking amiably enough as he brought in their coffees to the smoking-room. And Doctor Easington seemingly had no motive to kill his brother-in-law.”

“No-one heard anything?” I asked.

“The smoking-room is at the side of the house, for privacy”, Holmes said. “Sir Beresford has arranged that, if you are willing, you can sit in on the _post mortem_. I know police doctors are good but I would prefer to have someone whose judgement is unimpeachable in this matter. Certainly someone more professional than this God-forsaken newspaper writer, who deserves to spend some time in Purgatory himself for alighting on 'Hell House 2' as his title!”

“Of course”, I smiled.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“Well?” Holmes asked as I pulled my gloves on.

I had just finished helping to examine the body of the late Mr. Hilary Bennett and had found – well, something very odd.

“Was he strangled?” my friend asked.

I looked at him oddly.

“Undoubtedly”, I said. “Except that was not what killed him.”

“Watson!”

I suppressed a smile. 

“He was stabbed in the heart”, I said. “With an exceedingly fine instrument, quite possibly a stiletto knife. Not only that, it was most likely done by a professional.”

“How do you know that?” he challenged.

“Because the entry wound is in the one spot that would kill him as quickly as possible”, I said. “I would guess that he was strangled afterwards in an attempt to hide it.”

“That does not make sense”, Holmes frowned. “If we assume an outside attacker, they must have known that the doctor would only be away for a few minutes at most, assuming that they had been listening in. The water closet is directly across the hall from the smoking-room, so why waste precious time in attempting to hide the crime in that way?”

I thought for a moment.

“I do not like to cast aspersions”, I said slowly, “but is it possible that the 'bad people' his brother has reputedly fallen in with contain some Italian criminals? People who are expert in this sort of weapon?”

He seemed to be thinking about my words, and did not immediately answer.

“One more thing”, I said. “He also used some strange shaving cream. I could smell it on his face and neck, so he must have used it copiously. Something herbal by the odour.”

Holmes' eyes lit up at that. I really wished that I had known why.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Doctor Oughtred Easington was a large man of about forty years of age, jovial and welcoming. I could see that he would make a good addition to our profession. Holmes asked him if he had also been the victim's doctor.

“No”, he said, “but I did make up some shaving cream for him. Hilary had a severe reaction when he tackled some ivy around his window a short while back and normal shaving cream made his skin flare up even more. I gave him a herbal preparation, which he said did not have any side-effects. Is there a problem?”

“Your father merely wishes us to clarify exactly how his son-in-law died”, Holmes said politely. “Do you happen to have any of that preparation here?”

“Sadly no”, he said. “It is quite potent – not dangerous, just strong-smelling - so I make it up but rarely and would only let Hilary have one jar at a time. He quite liked the smell, oddly enough, whilst I could not stand it! I only gave him the first jar last week so he should still have most of it. His valet would most likely know where he kept it.”

“We shall check that out”, Holmes said. He paused before continuing. “Mr. Bennett did not seem troubled at all at your dinner?”

The doctor hesitated.

“He was concerned about his brother John”, he admitted, I thought reluctantly. “A very nasty piece of work by all accounts, one of those ghastly braggadocios who thinks that he is better than he actually is. I know that his wife left him after he beat her and that her father and brothers felt the urge to come round and give him a bloody good thrashing. I am glad they yielded to said urge.”

“He sounds a most unpleasant man”, Holmes said.

“John had wanted to move into the house with him, but Hilary had refused”, the doctor said. “It would easily have been big enough for the both of them, but I think Hilary had his brother's measure and foresaw – correctly, I would say – that once in he might never be rid of the fellow. Families are difficult things. I suppose that John will inherit the house now.”

“I do hope that he was not counting on that”, Holmes said. “The house was settled by Sir Beresford solely on Mr. Hilary Bennett, to revert to the family once he passed on.”

“Then dear John may be in for a disappointment”, the doctor smiled. “It could hardly happen to a less nice person!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day Holmes received a visit from Sir Beresford. The nobleman looked at me suspiciously.

“You are not writing up this case, doctor?” he rumbled.

“I write up all my friend's cases for the records”, I said. “It is often useful for him to reference back to earlier cases, and to see patterns that may throw a light on later ones. But when I published that story I agreed that even if more tales did follow, I would never put out any story that would harm an innocent person.”

“The case progresses”, Holmes said, “but we are some way from a conclusion as yet. Thank you for coming here today, my lord. I wished to ask you a particular question.”

“Of course.”

“Were there any developments, any happenings at all relating to the unfortunate killing of your daughter, that occurred in the past few weeks?”

“Mr. Holmes....”

“I would not ask”, Holmes pressed, “but I have a sense for when I am missing a key piece of information. And right now, that is what I feel.”

The nobleman slowly nodded.

“All right”, he said. “It is strange you should ask that, because two things happened recently, apart from my son's return. One a month ago, which I did not think worth mentioning, and the other this very morning. The first one was that Mary Elliston died.”

“Who was she, pray?” Holmes asked.

“The housemaid at the time of the attack”, Sir Beresford said. “As you may recall from the newspaper coverage she encountered the two killers and one of them struck her before fleeing. Unfortunately they were both wearing masks so when she eventually came round she could tell us little or nothing. She retired to the Lakes just under a year ago to live with her sister; they subsequently moved into a cottage on my new Westmorland estate. Her sister wrote and told me; natural causes she said.”

“I see”, Holmes said. “And the event from this morning?”

The nobleman hesitated.

“The Metropolitan Police contacted me this morning”, he said gravely. “John Bennett, Hilary's brother, has been found dead in his room in Soho. He had committed suicide the night after his brother's death. He left a note admitting that he had killed his brother over an argument and stating that he did not wish to carry on. He said that he waited for the doctor to leave the room, then came through the French doors and stabbed him.”

“Another death”, I muttered.

“Indeed”, Holmes said. He pressed his long fingers together and thought for some time before speaking again. “Sir Beresford, Doctor Watson and I will need to make a journey of some distance to bring this matter to a proper conclusion. We will be gone for some two days; I think that it is unlikely to be any more than than. If you would care to come round this Sunday, I fully expect to be able to explain matters to you.”

“All?” the nobleman asked. “Even my daughter's murder?”

“That will be tricky”, Holmes admitted. “But I may be able to offer you some news about your daughter's killers, even if bringing them to justice is... problematic.”

The nobleman stared at him in confusion, but then nodded and bade us farewell. I looked at my friend.

“Your surgery would be able to function without you for two days?” he asked.

“They would”, I said. “Where are we going?”

“Westmorland!” he grinned.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We caught an afternoon train out of Euston that, fortuitously, stopped at Oxenholme on its way through to Glasgow. Holmes had managed to wire ahead, and after a short journey on an antiquated branch-line train that took us to the town of Bowness, we were met by a trap which took us to the Lady Jane Gray Hotel. Holmes said that he hoped to have everything sorted quickly so that we could take a train back around mid-day on the morrow.

The following morning a hired trap took us just across the border into Cumberland, and to a small but well-kept cottage. Holmes led me up to the cottage door and knocked politely. It was opened by an elderly lady dressed in black, who stared suspiciously at us.

“It's all right, Annie”, came a voice from the cottage's one and probably only large room. “I am expecting these gentlemen.”

'Annie' gave us a look which said quite clearly _'gentlemen?'_ , but nodded curtly to us, bade us enter, and left in silence. Holmes walked over to the fireplace and ran his hand against a framed photograph of two ladies.

“Sir Beresford had that done for us on Mary's retirement.”

The lady who spoke was also elderly, but much thinner and attired in mourning clothes. She was sat by the fire, which gave precious little warmth in the cold winter air. Her friend had at least prepared a warm pot of tea and some cake, which she kindly offered to us. I took a chair at the table, whilst Holmes sat opposite her. 

“Miss Margaret Elliston”, he said politely. “Thank you for allowing this visit. I shall try to make it easier for you by telling the tale myself. I know most of it, and if I go wrong I am sure that you can correct me.”

She nodded her agreement, and he began.

“When your sister retired”, Holmes began, “she omitted to tell her employer of her real reason for leaving. I do not know how, but something happened to make her realize exactly who at least one of Lady Alicia's two killers was, and by implication who the other might most likely be.”

She nodded again.

“He used a powerful scented soap”, she said. “Lavender and rhododendron; Mary always had a nose for scents. When he struck her at the house she smelt it, but it was only when she chanced to meet him over two years later that she made the connection. She panicked and quit her post, poor lamb. I did try to get her to approach the authorities but she was terrified in case they came after her too. All the worry hastened her end, I am sure.”

“Scent can be a powerful way of triggering memory”, I said. “But who were the killers, then?”

“Mr. Hilary Bennett and his brother, John”, Holmes said calmly.

“What?” I almost shouted. “Lady Alicia's own husband?”

“One presumes that Mr. Hilary Bennett assumed his wife's estate would fall to him”, Holmes said. “He did not know about that ingenious will that, by his own actions, would cut him out of things. It must have been a terrible moment for him, finding out that he had killed for possibly nothing. But he still got a house out of it, and the only possible danger then was his wayward brother. Or so he thought.”

He turned back to Miss Elliston.

“Your sister may have fled her job”, he said, “but she was a lady of stout moral character. She sent a message to Doctor Easington in India. I doubt that she actually told him much, but it was enough to have him buy out the last two years of his commission and return home at once. He came here, and she told him all.”

She sighed and nodded.

“Two evil men thought they had got away with murder”, Holmes went on, “but now an avenging angel was on their trail. Doctor Easington had several advantages in what he sought to do, most importantly that both of his victims were totally unaware of the danger now threatening them. He first dosed a shaving cream that introduced certain drugs into Mr. Hilary Bennett's body. These had the effect of making the victim slow and sluggish after a heavy meal, which when you intend to stab someone is a considerable advantage.”

“Some time during the evening the doctor finds an excuse to move close to his victim. He has in his pocket a surgical knife – sharper even than a stiletto, doctor – and he knows exactly where to stab Mr. Hilary Bennett to cause almost instant death. I strongly suspect that, in those final moments of lucidity the doctor told him the reasons for his action, and that Nemesis was finally catching up with him.”

I shuddered at the thought of the dying man, no matter how much he had deserved his fate.

“He now sets the scene”, Holmes continued. “The body is dragged over to the Paradol Chamber, to which he has obtained the key, and the skull placed inside. If the police take it as a clumsy attempt to implicate the doctor, then all well and good. The French doors are opened to imply an outside killer; I dare say that had the police done their job more thoroughly they would have located an obliging set of footprints leading to and from the house; to be fair however I do recall the weather that evening was atrocious, so perhaps they had been washed out.”

“The doctor then strangles a dead man, hoping that any _post mortem_ would not notice; I am sure that he uses surgical gloves throughout which he probably burns in the fire before leaving. Since drinks have been served, he knows that no servants will enter the smoking-room unless summoned. Therefore he can go to the water-closet in safety. He leaves the door ajar and waits in the closet for a servant to pass. When he sees one coming he re-emerges, enters the room, and cries out at the sight of the body of the man he has just killed. The unwitting witness comes running, and he has a near-perfect alibi. I am sure that he also remembers to swap the vial of drugged shaving-cream for a regular one, in case anyone checks that. The police come, make their inquiries, and decide that Mr. Hilary Bennett was most likely killed by an outside killer.”

Holmes hesitated.

“The doctor does one more thing before leaving the scene of his first crime”, he said slowly. “He takes Mr. Hilary Bennett's revolver with him.”

I shuddered again. I could see where this was leading.

“He goes to Mr. John Bennett's house, and is admitted. The blackguard has no reason to be wary of his brother's former brother-in-law. Not up to the moment that that person shoots him in the head, again most probably telling him why first. Three years late, but the dark deeds done at the first 'Hell House' are finally avenged. The doctor leaves a suicide note and departs, his work done.”

She sighed. There was a long pause.

“I do not doubt”, Holmes said gravely, “that the doctor discussed his plans with you beforehand, Miss Elliston. Your sister acted as an emissary of justice, employing a man to do the work that she felt needed to be done. I would only ask one question of you, if I may? Did the doctor tell you what he intended to do after all of this?”

She nodded.

“He plans to return to British India”, she said. “To stay there. But now.....”

Holmes suddenly stood up. I stared in surprise.

“Thank you very much for your time and patience, Miss Elliston”, he said. “The doctor and I will now return to our hotel to pack, and this afternoon we shall take the train back to London. Sir Beresford is attending us at Baker Street tomorrow and although it will be painful, he has a right to the truth.”

She looked at us, almost hopefully.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Provided Doctor Easington returns to British India, nothing”, Holmes said. “I truly doubt that his father will want to push matters. I was brought in on this case to pursue justice, and since justice has already been meted out, my work is done. Thank you for the tea and cake.”

He kissed her hand and ushered me out.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“You are letting a killer get away?” I asked dubiously. “And a doctor? What happened to 'first do no harm'?”

We were stood on Oxenholme Station, waiting for our London express. He turned to me, looking sad.

“Consider the alternatives, Watson”, he said quietly. “If I pursue the case, _cui bono?_. Who actually gains? The publicity would destroy Sir Beresford, and the vultures of the press may even hound poor Miss Elliston who is quite innocent. You know full well that twelve good men and true would rightly refuse to convict a man who killed his sister's murderers, such is the strength of our jury system. Not to mention that your fellow doctor would be ruined by the resultant publicity. A veritable ton of troubles all round, for no gain. Now consider what I am doing, even if it is nothing. British India gets a fine doctor, who will work out his penance, and the innocent are left in peace. Which, would you say, is the better way?”

I pouted. I still felt that allowing a doctor who killed to go free was wrong, but I could not fault his logic. Damn the man!

“I hate it when you are right!” I grumbled.

He smiled brightly.

“I know!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
